Elia IV & Areli VIII

The prospect of a horse-ride, to Elia, in the dead of Winter this far north, was not particularly a welcome one.

Much as she had tried to convince Oberyn of the cold of the Westerlands being tolerable, as she stood in the central courtyard of Casterly Rock, she felt it too keenly. At least she was a good rider, as it was the one form of exercise that minimally affected her lungs. It was something both she and Oberyn enjoyed to do, and one of the few activities that Doran and Obyern could stand to do together. It was an odd day, in fine weather, to not see the entirety of the newest generation of House Martell taking rides along-side the beach. They often rode to the Water Gardens, with as few attendants as their mother would allow, the wind in their hair and the sand flying beneath their hooves. They would race, swift, and sure along the Sunset Sea. Doran was often the winner, if only because he had the tendency of pulling on ahead before they officially started the race.

Elia was the best rider, however- she could leap over overturned roots of ancient and dried trees that sometimes washed up on the shore- she could ride at a gallop with finesse and without real fear. She held little fear when she was astride a horse. It wasn't odd to see her weaving and twisting her way through an obstacle course that was set up in the corral of the Old Palace. She felt freer on a horse, less limited to her own physical inadequacies.

Elia's favorite horse was a sweet face, pure black sand-steed mare she had called Gloom. It was one of the last things her father had gifted her before his death, and the only real clear memory she had of her father. She barely remembers her father's face, but she remembered vividly the day he had gifted her sweet Gloom. The little foal had been all trembling legs, not afraid of her, but excited as it explored the corral near the Sunspear stables.

Within her mane and tail, her father had taken the time to weave in the Gloom Poppy, a dark, purple flower that Elia had long considered her favorite. She remembered how she had squealed, and raced for the animal, tripped over the hem of her gown, and had been lifted, crying, into her father's arms. The warmth of his arms had been a comfort, but Elia could not shake the pain in her skinned knees. He had walked her to the foal and brought her crying face to the animal's.

Something in those dark eyes had eased her pain, and her father had guided her hand to touch the animal's quivering nose.

The second she had touched the velvet of Gloom's muzzle, Elia's tears had stopped altogether.

"There little sunshine," her father had said, his voice deep and calm, it had vibrated through Elia's back and eased the stinging on her knees more, "Be glad for your new friend! No more tears."

Gloom was her dearest friend, beyond Cassella and Oberyn, and as she stared at the admittedly pretty, chestnut palfrey provided for her, Elia found herself missing Gloom. This animal was too large, thick about the middle, less elegant by far. Elia knew without a doubt it was not as swift as her sandsteed, if perhaps better footed along the West's coastal cliffs. She sighed in her long cloak, pursing her lips as she came to touch the horse's side. Gerion Lannister, calmly holding onto the reins of his own palfrey, a larger horse by nearly two heads, with a grey handsome coat and spotted with curious white spots about its forelegs and head. If she squinted, it looked as if the spots were little birds.

"He's a gentle sort," he told her, with a winning smile, "That horse is the best behaved of our mounts."

She returned his smile.

"Does he have a name?"

Gerion squinted, shifting in his shining boots.

"I think it's Chestnut."

She raised a brow.

"Not very creative," she told him, gently running her hands through Chestnut's mane. The animal took the gesture well and even pressed against Elia's side.

Gerion gave a snort and shrugged his shoulders.

"It was renamed by Cersei a few moons ago. I forget the name it had before."

Despite her self imposed thought to be kind to her future goodsister, Elia could not help but find the humor in how simply a child's mind thought. My own reasons for naming Gloom had been simplistic as well, she mused, directed by the decoration her father had weaved into her mane and tail. She was five years older than the little Lannister Lady. And her brother. Elia had come to terms with the fact that her future husband was younger than her. If she did her math correctly, the earliest she could potentially marry him would be when he was three and ten, while she would be eight and ten. She wondered if Lord Lannister would insist on a longer engagement. Arguably nine years was a long engagement, but she could see Lord Lannister insisting on Jaime being older for marriage. Six and ten perhaps, which would leave Elia at one and twenty. Not the best age for children- but Elia would not argue against more time spent in Dorne and in the West to prepare for her role as Lady Lannister.

She was not blind to the fact that she would more than likely not be leaving with her Mother and brother after this visit. It was a rare practice for House of Martell to participate in a fostering situation, but with her Mother's time in King's Landing, Elia had always known that it was likely for her own future once she was old enough.

"And your mount, what is his name?" she asked, politely after a moment, pushing back her own thoughts of her future life. She needed to simply carry on with the conversation. Lord Gerion was the only child of consequence that was remotely her age and she tried her best to speak to him.

They had been pressed together with the new generation of Lannister children often. Elia often felt as a sort of chaperon, caring to pinch her brother's ear if he acted too rough with the younger children, and she often found herself seeing Gerion do the same to his niece and nephew if their emotions got the better of them.

"I called him… Now don't laugh. I was quite young when I first was given him and I had just been reviewing the great Houses- So, I called him Arryn… After the-"

"The bird-like markings. The sygial of the Arryns is the falcon, is it not?"

Despite his plea, Elia giggled at the name. And despite his seeming embarrassment, Lord Gerion chuckled as well.

"Indeed, Princess," he grinned, wide and open, and Elia was charmed by the easy manner of his smile.

A stark difference from the dour, solid face of his eldest brother, she noted, keenly, as he strode into the courtyard. The majority of the Keep was assembled, all of the gathered Westerland Court dressed in their finest Winter riding gear. Elia had watched the colors of the majority of the Houses of the West represented, and the finest furs lined hoods, leather gleamed polished boots, and gloves. Elia had yet to see so many people gathered like this since the Welcoming Feast, and though it did not diminish the grandeur of the Court of the Sun at the Old Palace, she could see that the Lords of the West certainly stood firmly along with the same greatest of Dorne. Just a different sort of greatness.

It all parted for the Lord of the West.

The Uncrowned King, part of Elia whispered, for Tywin Lannister looked a King. Stern. Regal in his powerful steps, and dressed more finely than anyone but his own family. Handsome, but somehow it was not the type of beauty to invite you in. Perhaps it was the set of his firm mouth or the way he held his lean shoulders, but Tywin Lannister's presence was a physical weight. Everyone within the courtyard fell into a sort of hush. Even the horses seemed to realize his presence, for they too were silent. His cloak swept across the neat cobblestones and remaining snow with barely a whisper, golden gleaming fabric with the darkest red fur trim that Elia wondered what animal had produced it. Not even the lack of crown on his brow took away from him. He reached his second brother, Lord Kevan, and spoke in his cool voice, and the spell was broken.

People spoke, yet somehow it was more subdued than before. Elia felt a rush- not awe. For her Mother had the same sort of presence as Tywin Lannister, but admiration at the easy command the Warden of the West held over his people. Will that not be my goodfather? My education and own presence be molded by that sort of man. Elia had no idea what to think. Before Lady Joanna's death, Elia had been eager to learn from her. For who wouldn't wish to be such a splendid creature? But Tywin Lannister was not his wife…

"Do you need help, Princess Elia, to mount?"

Taken from her musings, Elia turned back to the youngest Lannister brother and gave him a slight smirk. Cassella, attending her own bowered mount, gave a snort. With a quick, easy leap, Elia gathered the split pants of her riding habit that most mistook for a skirt, slipping her tall Western boot into one of the stirrups, and mounted in a smooth movement. She didn't even use the horn, and was glad Cassella had attended the horse before her- the saddled wasn't the ridiculous sort of thing that the majority of the woman had. Forcing their feet to the side in demure, or to arrange their full skirts without the worry of bunching a reasonable saddle would have caused. Some even had a backrest. How silly. Hugging Chestnut's torso with both legs, Elia grinned wider at the gaping mouth of the Lannister Lord.

"Not at all, Lord Gerion," she sweetened her smile, pleased at the smile he was starting to give, wide, impressed and true, "I can manage on my own."

He laughed. It was free and open as his smile, and for a moment Elia wondered at how pretty these men of the West could be.

"Then I will help my sister, and niece," he said simply, and giving the reins of Arryn to an attendant, he made his way to do just that.

Without a sound, Cassella mounted her own borrowed horse. She pushed back a stray strand of her black hair that had escaped her headscarf. It was a delicate pink, the image of the white lady of her House was resplendent against the material, the red star at her heart, instead of the traditional blue. It was a homage to House Martell's sun a detail that Cassella had insisted on, Elia remembers as they had ordered new pieces for their wardrobe together. It was Cassella's own personal sygnal, and nod to her devotion to Elia. The scarf was a vivid contrast to the more muted colors of her riding habit, a plain white that had little decoration beyond fading into pink at the hem of her pants. Cassella was frowning, Elia saw for a second before she pulled up her scarf to cover her pink painted lips.

"It's freezing," she said, irritatedly, muffled, and tugging impatiently at her dyed pink leather gloves. They fit seamlessly into her white sleeves, covering them perfectly, but the cotton of the habit wasn't the thickest, "Are you cold my princess?"

"I have dressed warmly, Cassella. Lady Genna informed me last night that the groove we are riding too is quite protected by trees, so the wind will be blocked. And that men will have been sent ahead to start the fire pits."

Cassella lifted a single brow. She nodded, eying Elia's orange riding habit with something akin to envy. The spotted fur of the desert cat was incredibly warm and lined the entirety of her habit's hood and parts of her pants. Her own headscarf was velvet instead of cotton, thin and finely made to fit inside her hood. Her hair was loose, spilling across her shoulders just escaping the wrap of her scarf, whilst her plainest crown held it all in place with pins.

"How manicured and tamed. It is a place frequented, then?"

Elia gave a nod.

"Well, at least we won't freeze."

Elia laughed.

"Perhaps not, my friend."

The corner of Cassella's eyes crinkled, and she saw a glimpse of the strain since their conversation of her marriage, lift away from her friend's face. The fact that Cassella had spoken to her mother that day, alone, and come back silent and resigned made Elia wonder what Cassella had asked her. She wondered if remaining in the West would cost her Cassella's presence, or if conversely, her friend had begged to stay by her side. Neither prospect made Elia happy. She was selfish enough to know and lament not having Cassella as her Lady and bodyguard. It would mean more loneliness in a strange land, but also that Cassella would return to Dorne. Perhaps even return to the Lady's Seat instead of staying within House Martell. Cassella was of marrying age and had been requested by her father twice already.

She had dismissed both of the calls from her father after the end of the War, and it had only been Elia's Mother's intervention that had prevented him from pressing for her again. If the other was true, it meant that Elia kept her dearest friend with her- at the cost of Cassella's happiness and freedom. Her friend adored their kingdom, and within the walls of Casterly Rock, she and Elia would have to change their behaviors for the court. It would be difficult for her. And Elia knew not how much they would have to change for the West. It would be enough- even at the lesser extreme. Even this visit was putting a strain on Cassella. Elia felt she was more adaptable, or at the very least, had to be more adaptable.

Someone blew a curious Westerland horn, indicating that they would leave soon and all of House Martell and their attendants more firmly filled together. The banners of the pierced sun was a sight against the various colors of the West, and she felt herself sit straighter astride her borrowed horse as they placed themselves beside House Lannister. Only her mother rode beside Lord Tywin, and it struck Elia as an imposing picture. The contrast of gold against orange was handsome, and Elia knew that these two tall figures would be the two she would remember most as her parents. She remembers little of her father, and Tywin Lannister was to be her goodfather. He would be the only one she would remember with clarity.

The Princess Nymeros and the Uncrowned King would be the ones she would measure herself against. Lady Joanna's shadow with them. Joining them. Linking Princess and Lord in an unlikely alliance that was tentative, but somehow had survived the passing of that splendent, beautiful woman. Elia's marriage would bind them forever, and the blood of Dorne would be added to the blood of the West. Elia blinked, overcome for a moment at the pressure she knew was riding on the settlement of her marriage with Jaime. And at the thought that one day, she and the smiling, bouncing boy coming up next to her would take the mantle of the two figures before them. She would be the ghost, the Lady of the West, whilst Jaime would take Lord Tywin's place.

They would be Lord and Lady of the West, ruling this land...

Jaime had been given a brilliantly red-coated foal that was just getting its legs about it, she noted. He was bouncing in his seat and gave Elia a wide smile that showed his missing back teeth. It was likely the small boy had just begun to learn to ride, and she felt it a slight to Cersei to not be offered the same lessons. She returned his smile, however, and even gave him a small wave. The sweet boy returned it readily, grinning wider. This was probably the first official Courtly ride that he would do on his own horse if not, the first one since his mother's passing.

"You are so good with a horse," said Jaime, whispering with another adorable bounce.

It amused her and pulled her away from her daunting thoughts. The little boy had seen her move Chestnut perhaps a meter or two, and no more. But he thought her skilled. That, or he was surprised at the fact that she was able to ride without being lead as many of the Ladies were.

"I was taught since I was your age, Lord Jaime," Elia whispered back, and looked at the boy with as sweet a smile as she could muster, "In time you will be as good as me."

Jaime looked wide at her.

"Do you think so?"

"I will make it so if I must. I can teach you all the tricks."

Little Cersei gave an open scoff, her eyes narrowed from her position in the window of the finest wheelhouse within the courtyard. Elia was saddened to see that the young lady had not been given a horse. The simple canopy blocked the wind, with her youngest siblings firmly in a cradle in a seat across from her. She was frowning, as Lord Gerion aided her aunt, Lady Genna, into the wheelhouse beside her. Another thing to teach her then thought Elia with a frown. Lord Lannister had outright rejected Elia's request to have Cersei learn a martial skill, but Elia was quite determined to teach her regardless. It was a dangerous thing, to defy Lord Tywin Lannister, but he was not constantly present at the Rock. Elia was determined to teach Cersei, for every girl should learn to defend themselves.

The fact that Elia had been unable to officially bring her lessons had caused the girl to act ridiculously cooly to Elia. She is a brat, thought Elia with a little bit of hurt at the meanness the girl threw at her at every turn since her father's ruling. But not much. She was so much younger, and evidently very spoiled in regards to getting the things she wanted. It was not strange that Cersei was acting so illy in the face of being denied one thing, as she was probably denied very little in her short life. But it did not take away Elia's own exasperation at the spoiled child's behavior.

"Don't believe her Jaime," she said, simply, scowling fiercely at Elia before she threw back the curtain against the window.

"She's sad about not being able to use the spear," whispered Jaime, again, looking over at her with his delicate golden brows smashed together. He nudged his little horse closer, and she was impressed by his mastery of the horse at such a young age. He was a natural.

Elia blinked.

"I know. I know she wished very badly to learn. You don't have to tell me her reasons, Lord Jaime."

Jaime gave a shrug.

"Cersei doesn't speak about being sad, or disappointed. I have to do it for her."

Elia frowned.

"She must learn to speak for herself. Making you do it is not fair."

Jaime gave her a blink as if he would have never thought of that before he gave another dismissive shrug. Elia felt her frown deepen before she forced herself to smile.

"What name did you give your horse, Jaime?"

Jaime looked down at his hands, and they tightened on the braided leather of the reins. He blinked quickly.

"Mother and I named her Niran," he said nearly inaudible. Perhaps close to tears. It was a Rhoynish name- an old one of a very specific dialect- and it meant flame. Her mother's influence on Lady Joanna was evident.

Elia felt her throat thicken for a moment, at the very rare show of grief in the young boy. Cersei was open with her grief. She was angry and ready to cry very readily, even if she suppressed her tears often. But Jaime kept his grief close. And in the moons she had been present, Elia had yet to see the boy cry in front of her. Or even suppress tears. Without her mean or worry for the outside reactions from the people around them, Elia reached over and placed her gloved hand over the slightly shaking hand of the boy of just four namedays. He looked up swiftly, eyes widening at her casual touch. Elia gave the boy a sad smile.

"My father, before he died," she whispered, soft and gentle, "He gave me a horse and helped me name it. Gloom, for the Gloom Poppy he wove into her mane and tail."

Tentatively, slowly, Jaime placed his other hand over hers. His little gloved hand squeezed her larger one, and he smiled a smile so brilliant and bright that Elia knew she would come to care for this boy very much. Not romantic love, exactly. Elia could never be sure of that. But she knew for certain that a part of her heart was ready to care for him nonetheless.

"I want to see Gloom," he told her, seriously.

Elia smiled, brilliantly.

"If I stay longer in the West, I will have her brought to the Rock," she returned, just as seriously, "And you will know my father's last gift to me."

OOOOOOOOO

Areli felt smothered.

Story of my second life.

But for the first time in a long while, it was not in an emotional sense. It was in a physical one. Areli had, in the great wisdom that was Westoros's medicine, had been bundled up in four layers of blankets. Swaddled like a burrito. Three of them were thick, soft wool. One was made of fur. Tyrion, the twin she had not seen in much too long, had been squashed next to her, tucked if less carefully into the portable cradle that Areli had become very familiar with. It had startled her, to realize that the little boy had grown from the squashed face little thing she remembered.

His face had rounded out and smoothed, and though his little forehead stuck out, his features resembled the other Lannisters as much as a baby could. His skin wasn't pale like her's, but had a healthy rosy cast, with just a hint of the tan that all the people of the Westerlands seemed to possess. Not quite golden, but close. His hair was a curious mixture of pale gold leaning towards white, with a few odd strands of darker hair that looked almost brown. The large eyes that looked at her were very clearly green, dark, like their father, but one of the pupils of the eyes was over-blown, making it almost look as if he had an eye that was black from a distance. It was a startling thing, but Areli thought it gave the young boy character. His arms and legs were shorter then she knew was average for a baby of a few months, but otherwise, he looked incredibly healthy considering their messy and possibly premature birth. And he was larger, more filled out from the little baby she remembered.

He seemed to know her- as impossible as that seemed for someone only a few months old. But when he had been placed next to her, he had given a happy gurgle, a sweet cry escaping from his lips. His small hands had reached for her. He had pressed his head into the small space of her neck, pressed hard into her face with a slobbery brush of affection. It had made her heartache, and Areli had reached back for him with the softest of contented sighs. Tywin Lannister had witnessed it all with a frown before Genna had been given the cradle and he had walked away.

Areli knew she and Tyrion hadn't been separated for very long. Maybe a month or so, it was difficult to count the days with any sort of regularity. But since the night of her mild fever, Tywin, her father she reminded herself with a slight sigh, had been in favor of keeping her next to him. Her slight break of sleeping with Tyrion had come to an end, and despite what he had said to his sister, Tyrion had not been added to their routine. Maybe seeing them react in such a way would change that, but Areli could only think to make an enormous scene if Tywin tried to take her away from her twin again. If there's any time to test my luck, it's now. Tywin has been very mellow these last few days.

"She's too close to Jaime," hissed Cersei, across from her. She shifted impatiently in her seat but did move away from the center of it as she looked out the window. Probably trying to keep her long skirt from wrinkling.

The slight sway to the carriage was soothing, and it was taking all of Areli's will power to stay awake. She really wished she could have enjoyed looking outside, at the least, as this was the farthest she had ever been from her new home. With the blankets and the crib's wall, she was limited to only looking at the females of her new family. Their aunt Genna was a bombastic looking woman, curves that could stop traffic and a classically beautiful face that had a clever curl to her mouth. She looked down at the young girl next to her, raising a single arched brow at the frown on her pretty face. It felt strange, to connect this small child with the Cersei Lannister of her mind. She saw glimpses of her, small moments of the woman she had the potential to become. But is that a projection of what I expect? Reading too much in a small children's justifiable volatile emotions?

Genna smiled, an indulgent tone to her words, "Who, sweetling?"

"Elia."

"Well, they are some of the youngest in the party, it is only fair that they ride beside each other. Especially if the Princess," said Genna pointedly, "Is minding Jaime. She is said to be an expert rider, I am sure she is only being careful. Your brother is a new rider."

"He should be in here with me!"

"It is only proper that he rides. The foal he has needs to be trained for your brother specifically. It is the first of many horses he will need to make his own."

"I should have my own horse!" cried Cersei, and she tightened her hands into the dark green gown she was wearing.

Genna sighed, and primly smoothed out her niece's gown, uncurling her little fists with a pointed look.

"You tried to learn. You caused a stampede. You were lucky your instructor was so swift in taking you out of the corral. In a year's time, you will be given the chance to try again, Cersei. And a horse will be given to you then," scolded the older woman.

"If he had given me the white horse as I told him, instead of the ugly brown one, I would have been in the right place and the stampede would not have happened," replied Cersei with a slight sneer.

"That was one of your father's warhorses, Cersei. An ill-tempered stallion that would have bucked you off in five seconds flat. This was explained to you- You liked Chestnut until you saw the horse-"

"If Father can ride such a beautiful horse, then so will I."

Genna gave a sigh. Areli frowned slightly, shifting as much as she could with the limpet that was Tyrion and the tightness of her blankets.

"Well, if you had behaved, you would be riding with your brother. With a horse of your own."

Cersei shrugged, face turning once again out the window.

"She's not very pretty," she told her Aunt, simply, her green eyes were narrowed.

"Who, Cersei?"

"Elia."

"Cersei, it is rude to say such things of our guests!"

"It's not as if she can hear me. She's too far ahead with Jaime. Jaime promised he would ride next to the wheelhouse. He's off with her instead."

Normal childhood jealousy, or hints of their obsession with each other?

"Your brother is free to be with the Princess if he wishes Cersei. And if you say such things of our guest again, I will be telling your father, be sure of that. Look away from them if it bothers you so much."

Cersei sent their Aunt a narrowed look but turned away from the window nonetheless. She even drew the curtain across the window, huffing as she faced forward. Emerald eyes locked onto Areli. For the first time in a long time, Cersei Lannister was looking at her. Dark eyes, emerald pitch, widen slightly. Her face was still set in a frown, but something else lit in her eyes. Areli couldn't quite read the expression. It wasn't curious- it wasn't exactly angry, but a mixture of both.

"Father put the two together," Cersei said, in her high voice.

Despite her maturity, and knowing the little girl across from them was innocent… Something about that sent a shiver of unease down Areli's spine at the attention from the would-be-queen of Westeros. Genna seemed to be pleased by the change of subject, or perhaps she was pleased by Tyrion's place in the cradle because she smiled widely. It did things to her face, and Areli was again confronted with the fact that the physically older woman could barely be in her early twenties.

"Yes," the pleasure was even more evident in her voice, the crease in her finely arched brows indicated a relief to her, "Areli has yet to get sick, and your father thought this would be a fine way to have them join our ride."

Huh, Aunt Genna really has our back. Mental note, do not fake a fever after this. I have no idea what sort of mental stimulation they're giving Tyrion alone.

Cersei seemed to want to say more, but as she looked at her Aunt's happy face, she instead returned her gaze back to Areli. Her dark green eyes, the ones she shared with her father, and youngest brother lingered on her for the rest of the ride, and Areli could only stare back. She waited for the little girl to say something- anything about her. Cersei, Areli could see, in the little she'd seen of her, did not tend to censor herself. Only around their father did the young girl hold her tongue to some extent. It hinted to Areli, the woman she remembered as Queen Cersei Lannister, to only hold her opinion when she was afraid, or when she thought it would benefit her...

Areli really didn't know what to do when it came to Cersei Lannister.

On the one hand, Tywin Lannister was arguably worse than the young girl across from her. He had already been the implementer of mass-murder, her little understanding of what the Rains of Castamere meant told her that much. He, in what she guessed was nearly thirty-years or so time, would be more than capable of more mass-murder when it came down to the War of Five Kings. And then there's the story of poor Tysha, Tyrion's would-be wife. Gang-rape of an innocent girl, to teach his son a lesson. And Elia, and her children. Raped. Dead.

But that was in the future.

Castamere aside, the destruction of House Stark and the death and torture of Elia, her children, and Tysha were not things that had yet happened. I can change that. I think I have already changed Elia's fate, without meaning too. She found that it was difficult to condemn even Tywin, especially since she did not have the full context of what had caused Castamere's flooding. It didn't absolve him of his actions, she knew that with certainty, but it did matter for her to understand. Westeros was not Earth. Her morality didn't completely apply to the actions of the men and women here. She still thought Tywin was a monster, to some extent. She didn't think anything could properly explain the murder of an entire family. But in Westeros, he was maybe a practical monster. She didn't know.

And I can't judge the actions of a grown woman who had a different life than this Cersei. And Cersei, her older sister, was a four-year-old child who had done nothing.

Arguably, anything that Queen Cersei had done was in the future. The murder of her husband's children, the little girl she killed... The blowing up of the Sept, if you went by the television show… All of that was potential. Not past actions. She was not yet Queen Cersei. All I can do is wait, and watch what type of person she really is. The little girl stayed surprisingly quiet for the rest of the ride. Her gaze moved, away from Areli once again, and turned again to the window. Her face flickered from curiosity to quiet discontent as she watched outside the window. Then, it shifted to sadness.

Just... Quiet sadness as their Aunt chattered contently with one of her brothers outside of her own window, not even looking towards little Cersei as they were driven out of Casterly Rock.

Areli herself lost her battle with sleep, watching Cersei's sad face. She was only was jostled awake when Tywin, her father, she reminded herself, sleepy, leaned over the cradle. Some time had passed, she noted, at the slightly brighter light by the doors of the carriage. He pressed his fingertips, bare against her face, carefully touching her forehead and the back of her hand. He had done that near religiously since the night of her fever. Areli sighed, and curled her own hand around his, catching the thin digits with a faint squeeze. He rewarded her with the faintest of smiles. His dark eyes drifted, slightly, as she pulled his hand towards Tyrion. The smile disappeared, and a furrow appeared on his youngish face. She gave him a narrowed eyed look and brought his hand to Tyrion's forehead.

She cooed. A plea. A fake thing of pleasure escaping her lips. Four years of high-school drama, don't fail me now.

Her father shuddered as touched the slight jut of Tyrion's forehead. She suppressed a frown and cooed again. Tywin's hand stayed still. He did not press his fingertips against Tyrion of his own free-will, but he didn't pull away. Tywin 10, Areli 2. I'm going to even out that score the more control I have of my body. I am going to be the worst toddler ever. Terrible Twos, oh, how you will give me petty satisfaction.

"Father," called Cersei, eagerly. She jumped on Tywin's arm, Areli spotting some of her golden curls flying upward in the motion.

Tywin blinked, and gently pulled away, breaking the small battle of wills. Areli huffed. Damnit.

"Cersei, do not jump on me," he said, frowning down at the girl.

Areli wiggled annoyed at the enclosure of the blankets. Tryion started wiggling with her. Together, they were able to loosen up the blankets. Twin power! Sitting up, she was pleased when her brother copied her. She reached out, and the little boy reached back, his hand gripping hers. His fingers were a little clumsy, but he grasped the mechanics of hand-holding despite his less than dextrous fingertips. Areli leaned forward, dragging Tyrion with her, to peer over the edge of the cradle. Cersei was clinging to the wrist of Tywin's arm. Areli blinked and realized that Tywin was very strong for her not to have felt the jerk of his arm as the little girl had jumped on him.

"Cersei, it is not befitting of a lady to cling this way."

Expression falling, the little girl let go of their father's wrist. Her arms dropped, and she pressed them to her back. Her brows were furrowed. Tywin turned back to Areli and Tyrion. He lifted a single brow. Pointedly, he grabbed one of the many blankets and made to warp it around Areli again. She frowned, and made a noise of protest, wiggling away. Tywin frowned and raised the other brow. Shit. Danger sign. Areli made another noise of protest, and following Joanna's dubious advice, gave a careful pout.

Tywin blinked, brows dropping. He sighed. And lowered the blanket, placing it over her legs instead. A compromise, Areli could live with that. Tywin 10, Areli 2, Stalemate, 15.

"Dah!" Areli gave her approval with a careful, gummy smile. It was strange, to not have any teeth again. And it was a little maddening to feel the ache growing in sensation of her first set of teeth. She had forgotten how painful it could be. It had seemed much less painful when she had been Anna and growing in her wisdom teeth.

"Spoiled thing," muttered Tywin. He surprised her by pinching her cheek gently between two fingers, and she had to giggle in surprise at the playful gesture.

He then lifted the cradle up, placing it against his hip. Good. He didn't just grab me. Point to me again! Areli gurgled, again her approval, squeezing little Tyrion's hand. Tyrion squeezed back and gave a wonderful, sweet laugh as they were lifted. He brought his hands together, with Areli's still with him, and clapped. Cersei, she saw, was glaring at them, and Areli frowned. Damn… That's troubling. Cersei trailed after her father, still sending that glare as they went. She's hurt. She wanted attention, and Tywin gave it to me… Damn. Her green little dressed trailed over dead, yellow grass. She was stomping across the clearing with fine little dark boots.

Areli leaned away from the little girl and looked around. It was a large, sheltered clearing in some sort of forest. The bare trees held crisp, white snow in the boroughs. They were tall, but rounded trees, not at all like the tall confers she was so used too from her old home in Alaska and in Winterfell's godswood. She blinked, watching as people made their way to fire pits, as servants grabbed horses and led them towards what looked like a simple stable hidden slightly by some of the farthest trees.

People go here, often.

"Oh, the babes," cooed, the oldest Princess, Meria. She wiggled her fingertips in greeting.

Tyrion squealed at the sound of her sweet voice and waved their joint hands. Princess Meria was sitting on what looked like more furs, with plush orange furniture, arranged comfortably near one of the fires. She lounged as she beamed at them both, with her son, the prince Oberyn, sitting near her, fiddling with what looked like- Sweet baby Jesus is that a knife?! He was twirling it expertly between his fingertips, and Areli nervously eyed him. Different cultures, she reminded herself sternly. Even the last remnants of the adult in her wanted to snatch the small blade out of his hands. He gave her and Tyrion a curious glance, stopping his knife juggling. Carefully he slipped it into his boot. He made a face at her, crossing his eyes. Tyrion, at least, found this to be the highest of humor and laughed like a loon. Areli suppressed an eye roll. The only one that didn't make faces at them was Tywin.

"That was a pleasant ride. The country is so beautiful, even in Winter," said the princess Elia, smiling sweetly, as she settled near her mother and brother.

Areli watched as Jaime pressed next to her, smiling so wide that his missing back molars were visible.

"It was fu-"

"It was boring," cut in Cersei, with a huff, sitting next to her twin, she sent a look to the older girl next to them as she gripped Jaime's arm, "We ride out here all the time."

"I am pleased you like the ride, Princess Elia, as you are new to the countryside of the West," called out Aunt Genna, pointedly looking to her niece as she settled across from Meria.

Cersei sighed and made a painful smile.

"I am sure it's new and fine to you," she said, simply, and tacked on, "Your grace."

Genna gave a suffering sigh. Tywin settled next to his sister, placing the cradle next to him. He fussed with their placement and ignored the conversation that Areli was watching curiously.

"Well, it's nothing to the ride from Sunspear to the Watergardens," said Prince Oberyn, loudly.

Princess Elia kicked at her brother's foot, the sweet smile still on her face.

"It was lovely for the newness of it. Especially considering how cold it is."

"Too cold," muttered Oberyn, darkly.

Areli watched the interaction with a suppressed sigh. This is going to be fun. If Jaime and Elia do get married, I don't know who will hate it more, Oberyn, or Cersei.

"Well, for the cold," said Meria, dark eyes gleaming, "I have brought a treat!"

She clapped her hands, and several servants brought tables, and following the tables curiously-shaped pots and matching cups. Areli, despite herself, squealed. Coffee! Yes!

"Do not be so excited," said Joanna, appearing next to her husband. She was smiling, indulgently, "It isn't coffee this time, sweetling."

Areli gave her mother a lifted brow. Joanna's smile went wider. She had been doing her darndest to not step on Areli's toes the last few weeks. And Areli had noted her effort if done her best to keep the ghostly woman at arm's length. Joanna had respected that and had started to minimize her interaction with Areli. She was no longer constantly plastered to her side when she was awake. She only appeared when Princess Meria and Lord Tywin spoke, or when she felt the need to clarify something that she thought Areli would not understand. She had stayed out of her dreams. In her way, Joanna had given Areli space, even if Areli suspected this was temporary. She had grasped Joanna's character, somewhat, since she had regained sentience as herself.

And once Tywin left Casterly Rock, she had the feeling in her despair, her mother would fall back to clinging to her. Areli was not looking forward to it.

"It is a delicacy of Dorne… Have any of you heard of the cocoa bean?" she sent a smile over to Tywin, lifting her eyebrows in a daring little wiggle.

It was startlingly playful if a little awkward. Areli had been privy to the growing… Ease in their relationship. It was not exactly friendship. She thinks there was a history there, a tension that refused to leave. Joanna, her mother, had told her as much. But there was an easier nature to the way they talked to each other. Less reluctance and more toleration between the two.

Tywin sighed.

"You are constantly feeding me strange concoctions," he told her, and it was a joke. A dry one, but a joke nonetheless.

"Well, taste the brewed hot cocoa and tell me if it is not worthy of your palette, my Lord," she replied back, sweetly.

Tywin smiled, more of a smirk, but he did the action nonetheless.

"A challenge, your grace?"

Dark eyes sparkled.

"But of course."

Tywin reached for a poured, steaming mug of hot chocolate. Without looking away from his face, Princess Meria dropped a fat spoonful of whipped cream and dusted what smelled like cinnamon across the white surface. Without looking away, completely serious, her father lifted the cheery-looking cup to his mouth. He sipped. And grimaced, pulling the cup away quickly. On his upper lip, whipped cream lingered. With great dignity, the Great Lord of Casterly Rock patted the mustache off.

Areli couldn't help it. She burst out into laughter. She nearly fell out of the cradle, if it hadn't been for Tywin's quick hands. She giggled harder, at the genuinely shocked face he held. Then, the great Lord of Casterly Rock shocked her.

He laughed.

It was not a chuckle. Or a snort. But a genuine laugh. It was brief. Died much too quickly, but happened nonetheless.

"I fear it is too sweet for me," he said simply, as he scooped her up, pressing her up into what was her usual perch, high on his chest. He turned to the stunned looking Princess Meria and lifted a brow, "Perhaps one without the cream, Princess Meria, will fare me better. Areli can have my first cup."

"I believe you are the second allowed to laugh at your father, sweetling. I was the first," said Joanna, softly.

Her ghostly face was wistful but pleased.

AN:

… Cersei is the hardest character to write in Lion-Heart. Seriously. There's a reason I am avoiding using Cersei as a POV character until she's older.

By the way, if you think everyone is shiting on her, well, DUH. She's constantly acting out because she wants attention. Because she's HURT and feels like no one is addressing that. Like any normal four-year-old would. Jaime is given attention as a default of being Tywin's favorite, same as Areli. She also sees Elia as someone who is trying to take her place when it comes to Jaime, and she failed to get her something she wanted, hence Cersei's frustration with the girl. Add the pressure for a lady to act well, Cersei's constant want to be seen in the same level of esteem/competency as Jaime, and the fact that Cersei isn't someone to take instruction well… Yeah. She constantly is acting out, and she is constantly punished for it in a vicious cycle. It doesn't help that Cersei is spoiled and impatient.

Anywho.

This story ain't dead. I have no idea why people have come to that conclusion. I know I don't update regularly, but as long as it's up, this story is very much active. And not up for adoption, so I kindly ask that people stop PMing me for them to pick up the story. Thank you for the offers though?

Next Chapter: Tywin V and Joanna.

~Stay Safe, be well,

Moon Witch '96